


Substitute Detective

by oly_chic



Series: Prowl Week 2020 [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Organized Crime, prowl week, wrongfully accused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: When Prowl gets wrongly accused of leading a terrorist ring it’s up to criminal Jazz to save him. That is if Prowl can keep himself alive in jail long enough.
Series: Prowl Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709596
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: Prowl Week





	Substitute Detective

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Law/Crime"
> 
> I'm using Streetwise as the investigating detective even though I don't know him well because I can't use the three remaining Praxians (Blue, Smokey, and Barricade). See series description for why I'm not using them. Sorry if you dislike the liberties I'm taking with him, I'm just not in the mood for OCs.
> 
> Also, Praxus doesn't have a guaranteed "one phone call" rule. Don’t know if that’s just an American thing or not, but regardless it’s not a Praxian thing.
> 
> I don't own Transformers.

Being a street cop could be particularly hard on some orns, like now. Acid rain pelted Prowl but he was covered in a see-through material that could withstand it. It came with a small price, and that was he had to walk everywhere while he wore it or else shred the material.

The darkened path between old buildings was winding and forcing him to sometimes backtrack. He mentally smacked himself upside the helm for taking a low-level priority call when the forecast called for acid rain. Prowl couldn't let crime go, however. It wasn't in his nature.

A few more paces and he rounded a corner to see someone curled up underneath an awning. Prowl's first instincts were to check out the poor spark caught in a bad situation. He hustled under the awning and approached with soft steps. He had to hug the wall close and keep his doorwings tucked in tight, for it was not a wide awning.

"Hello?" he said in a tone barely audible in the loud pitter-patter of the burning rain.

The mech jumped and his ped left the awning just long enough for a few drops of acid rain. "Ahhh..." he hissed as he snapped his leg back. He rubbed it and Prowl took the distraction to give him a look over.

He was black, white, and brown, with a grey-ish visor. It wasn't a good look. "May I come closer?"

"Whatever," the mech said without looking at him.

Prowl approach and knelt down, intending to look over the injury. Instead his attention was distracted by a second glance at his paint and visor. The paint wasn't brown but rather dirty, and his visor was grey from dust. There was even some peeling paint. "What happened to you?"

"Life," the down-trodden mech retorted before finally looking at Prowl. His optic ridges, barely visible, went high. "You're a cop."

"I am. My name is Prowl, and I'm from the 33rd precinct. Is there an issue?"

"I'll be moving a long, officer, don't worry." He tried moving, but the awning wasn't big enough to untwist himself and stand up.

Prowl wondered what was the issue until he saw the box with a few physical credits in it. "You're a homeless beggar," he realized.

"Please don't arrest me," he pleaded with a cough. Dust had obviously settled in his vents.

This was a new situation for Prowl. Homelessness and begging were both petty crimes in Praxus, and his rule of thumb was to always arrest lawbreakers. It was usually a black and white situation, like mechlings putting graffiti on buildings. Homelessness and asking for others to help for purchasing basics like energon wasn't so clear cut, and he hated it.

Prowl looked to the sky. "Well, I can't arrest you in the rain. I don't have a spare cover. I'm going to sit with you for now."

"To arrest me when it's clear?"

"Possibly," Prowl admitted. "You are committing two crimes."

"Great," the dirty mech muttered.

Their silence was shorter than the rain, as Prowl eventually succumbed to the questions in his mind. This grey problem in his black-and-white world wasn't something fathomable. "Why are you homeless?"

"Youthful dream," he laughed with a cough. "Just a series of bad luck. Creators died when I was young, no family to take me in, ran away from the foster care system, and learned the hard way that growing up without a formal education puts up a lot of walls and slams doors in your face."

"Oh." Prowl didn't really have a response to that. Lamely he asked, "What did your creators die from?"

"Home invasion."

"Were you there?"

His only response was the mech curling up further into himself. Prowl was astonished. What horrible luck this mech went through. This mech who? "What's your name?"

"Now, now, cop, I'm not going to make it so easy to arrest me."

He didn't have a response to that, but there was an unexpected feeling of being punched in the lower parts of his digestive system. _Cops should be trusted_ , he realized as the words of a mentor came floating up. He always thought that meant trusted to keep the peace, but his definition of peace was not the kind of trust this mech needed right now. Technically he was a criminal, and Prowl shouldn't worry about these things with him, but the definition of criminal seemed ill-fitted here.

Prowl dwelled hard on what he was going to do, his hands tucked around his chin as he rested against the wall. His musings stopped only when the last drop melted into the ground.

The cop made up his mind. "Come with me."

"Just great," the homeless mech angrily grumbled. "I guess you want me to hand over my chips."

"Yes." Prowl tucked them away after he took off his acid rain covers. "Transform and follow me. Deviate in the slightest and I will use whatever tactics I need to in order to bring you in."

He cursed. "I knew thinking of this morning's bright sun as a good sign was a stupid idea."

Prowl ignored him and transformed. The other transformed, and Prowl internally winced at the sounds the sequence made. They drove silently for six breems.

"Uh, cop, where are we?" The mech asked as Prowl pulled up to a small apartment complex. It wasn't fancy, barely above the poverty line, but it was clean and respectable.

"This is your new home, if you want it to be. I talked to the landlord while we waited out the rain, and made arrangements for you. Your first mega-orn of rent will be covered, but you will be responsible for the rest. Ah, here comes the landlord now." A middle-aged mech with a blue, orange, and gold paintjob came out a far door.

Prowl pulled out the chips the mech handed him. "Take a shower in your new unit, and then use the credits I've loaded on here to get a new paint job. Your unit was already set up for accessing public domain servers and sites, as I imagine your communication systems aren't working. You’ll be able to find the nearest paint job shop as well as any public job posting."

The mech stood there dumbfounded. Prowl pressed the chips into his hand. "Do well and may you have faith in the system again." He transformed and sped off.

* * *

Half a vorn after the encounter with the nameless mech that he'd long forgotten, though the impact of his decision never left, Prowl was enjoying his new apartment in the upgraded complex. He celebrated his promotion to detective and the new apartment with a new book on his datapad. Most celebrated with a home warming event but Prowl's move put him a bit out of his precinct's area, and truth be told he wasn't much into maintaining relationships beyond the necessary level of fraternization they required.

There was a violent rapid knocking on the door. "It's the police!" was yelled through the door. "You have 5 kliks to open up this door or we're coming in!"

Prowl jumped up, startled and almost went into fight mode. He hastily rounded his couch to the door. As soon as he opened it he was rushed by three cops. They forced him to the ground and flipped him over so he laid prone on his front, despite Prowl putting up no fight.

There were ped steps behind him and he heard the same voice say, "Prowl of Praxus, you are under arrest for first degree terrorism."

"What?" Prowl gaped into his floor.

"You know what you've done," that voice said with a heavy tone. "You're the leader of a terrorist ring planning to blow up the helix garden during The March of Primus. Now you’re in our custody and we won't let you murder hundreds."

"I am no such thing," he protested even as he stayed compliant as they cuffed him. The three pinning him down roughly yanked him up and spun him around to face the voice. It was a black, white, and red young mech. He wasn't too young, though, as he had his own detective badge.

The detective said to the officers, "Take him in while I and the search team tear apart his apartment."

An officer on his left started to read him his rights, but Prowl couldn't hear them over the rushing of energon in his audio receptacles. He could only look around in fright, hoping that none of his new neighbors saw him.

Luckily there were no witnesses until they reach the street, where Prowl didn't recognize any of the faces as he was loaded into a police transportation. Two of the three arresting officers climbed in with him while the third hung back. The ride to the 54th precinct had a quiet atmosphere, despite Prowl's racing thoughts and energon pump.

His wait at the precinct lasted a joor in a crowded cell until they came and took him to an interrogation room. His stasis cuffs were swapped out with regular cuffs with a long chain, wrapped around a bar to prevent escape.

After two breems of sitting it out and trying to not let the tactic to get to him, Prowl heard the door opening. The detective from before stepped inside the room with a pair of datapads. "I'm detective Streetwise. Prowl, you understand you're here because you're under arrest for leading a terrorist ring?"

Prowl shook his helm. "I understand the charges, but I don't understand why I'm being charged with them."

Streetwise sat down and put one datapad in front of Prowl. "I expected you to say that. I've read your profile, about how you're smart. You must not have expected to get caught."

"That's not what I meant. I have no ties to any terrorism, I know nothing of anything terrorist related," Prowl insisted.

"Again, I expected you to say that. Only evidence works on you, so here's our evidence." Streetwise turned on both of their datapads and used his to control Prowl's as he flipped through photos and documents. "There's you pointing out where to load the artillery, there's the document with your name on it that has orders to find a target meeting very cruel requirements, and there's you being seen with another known terrorist."

Streetwise continued on, but Prowl's panic was growing into numb emptiness and denial. Where did all this so-called evidence come from? None of it was real.

When Streetwise paused, there was a small part of Prowl still working despite the blank stare. "May I call my precinct for help?"

"No, you may not. We haven't even gotten to the proof that you wrapped your precinct around your operations. We'll get there, though. You can't manipulate your way out of this one, Prowl."

By the end of interrogation Prowl was mentally depleted. They were trying to break him, but they couldn't reach him since he had completely retreated into himself. His only thoughts were how he would get himself out of this knowing he was all alone.

|Jazz's POV|

"Mech, there is nothing like this energon," Jazz said as he raised his glass in their private restaurant room. He toasted to the air, and the five mechs with him toasted back.

"Yes sir!" Exclaimed half the group. The other half just cheered.

_Suck ups_ , Jazz teased them in his mind. It was true, they were sucking up to him but Jazz had a love/hate relationship with it. He loved how his life had changed to one where he was finally making the calls as a mid-level hacker and then some, but he hated how it was more about lackeys under him than friends. He had friends, and he was friendly to many more, but these here were lackeys.

"Sir?" The maitre d called from the door. "There is someone here for you."

Jazz motioned with his hand, "Let them in."

"Right away, sir."

A pink and yellow Praxian came into the room. Jazz pointed to a chair at the opposite end of his eight-mech table. "Come in and take a moment to relax those peds. You look like you need it."

"Thank you, Meister."

Jazz went by both names, his true name when he first started but "Meister" as soon as he became more than an entry-level grunt. "What's up?"

"I know that you pay for any information on the 33rd precinct detective named Prowl. I have something of substantial value."

"Tell you what, I'll give you my normal payout for information and anything more will be a tip for the real value of the intel."

The mech nodded. "I was in the 54th precinct in a cell with Prowl."

That stopped everything for Jazz. Normally he heard good news of Prowl, or at worst news about how the mech that saved him was still struggling with social endeavors.

"The cops said they brought him in for leading a terrorism ring," he continued. "Prowl spent the entire time looking like he was in shock. I don't think he knew what they were talking about."

Jazz leaned on his elbows. "Is he okay?"

"They took him to interrogation and a few breems later I was released. I came straight here. I don't know anything else about him - but I do know the detective is named Streetwise. He's a good detective, or so the cops say."

"I see. That intel is worth nearly double what I pay." Jazz transferred the credits. "Now go out to the main area and have a drink on me."

"Thank you, sir." The pink and yellow Praxian bowed out.

"What will you do now?" one of his lackeys asked.

"I'm going to find out who did this. There's no way that Prowl is guilty of these crimes."

"Where will you start?"

"With the detective, of course."

The mech nodded but another spoke. "How will you get the detective to talk?"

"I have my ways. Quick Fire, find everything you can on this Streetwise, focusing on his weaknesses. Do it fast; since Prowl is a cop, he may not have much time to survive in jail."

|Prowl's POV|

This time it was not a cell at the precinct, but a cell in an actual jail. He was led there in cuffs again but this time with his arms in front. The cells were grouped so there were five cells surrounding a small common area, which was also locked up. The areas Prowl passed had incarcerated mechs calling out to him in obscene ways. At least his detective marks had been removed or covered up. Even though it was to insult him he knew it increased his chances of surviving. A locked up detective did not have a good chance.

After what seemed like an eternity walking through the high-threat wing of the jail, or a wing that was as maximum security as it got without being a separate prison, they arrived at his cell’s common area. He walked inside and they unlocked the cuffs from the other side of the door. As soon as they freed him of the cuffs he looked forward and saw most of the nine other occupants surrounding a table. He couldn’t see what was on the table but he did take note of the glances his way. Some looked disinterested, some looked afraid, while others look aggressive. Prowl paid extra attention of the one mech in the middle who didn’t look at him because every afraid look he received also looked to that slate-grey mech with helicopter blades.

Resisting the urge to rub his freed wrists, Prowl made his way over as quietly as he could to see what they were doing. While he didn’t expect datapads in prison without going to the library, he was surprised what a low tech game they were playing. Paper cards with decorations were in their hands, and grease sticks were the prizes. Prowl took that to mean the jail probably let a mech seize up before providing such care.

“Who are you?”

Prowl looked up to see a pale yellow Praxian by the grey helicopter foreigner looking at him. “I’m no one of value.”

The grey one laughed, but the laugh and his following comment did not sound friendly. “No one here is of value, or so society wants us to believe, but that’s not what he asked.”

With a mischievous smile, the yellow one tried again. “What’s your name?”

“Road Hazard.” Prowl hadn’t done any real undercover assignments so he used the name of the last criminal he arrested.

Grey smirked. “Everyone say ‘welcome, Road Hazard.’”

The eight others joined in a chorus of “Welcome, Road Hazard,” and Prowl knew something was wrong.

|Jazz's POV|

Streetwise was a drinker and a regular at a bar far away from his precinct, according to Quick Fire’s information. When Jazz got there he spotted the detective at a small corner table by himself.

Once he was sure that Streetwise was intoxicated Jazz grabbed some colorful sweet high grade, which was not his taste but would sell the cover. When he had it he sauntered over to the table he deepened the color in his visor to a seductive blue. His silver highlights across his frame were fake but they were well done and meant to highlight his frame just as seductively as his new visor shade. “Hey there, lonely. Can a mech share a drink here?”

Streetwise looked up. “If I can get a name, you can sit here.”

“Gypsy Dancer.”

“Well then, Gypsy, please sit. Your drink looks delicious.”

“Thanks, it is,” Jazz said with a sip and forced himself not to spit it out. "So does yours. What is it?”

They talked for only a breem before Jazz’s ped was rubbing sweetly across Streetwise’s leg. “Shall we move this to a private room?” The private rooms were small but meant for moments like what Jazz was implying.

Streetwise drew up his posture as if he was sizing Jazz, even though the glow in his optics said his thoughts were probably too cloudy. “How much?”

“150 credits for half a joor.”

“One hundred.”

“Try 125.”

Streetwise looked him up and down and gulped down his remaining drink. “Better be a good 125.”

“Oh it will be, and I’ll throw in a free drink. You get the room and I’ll get the drinks.”

There wasn’t time to waste and he had to be careful with his timing. A bouncer at the private room section saw Jazz when he came over and stepped aside. “Room four.”

That meant he had until room four to pour the drug into Streetwise’s drink, but he couldn’t stop or else the bouncer might notice. So he walked slowly as he tore the package with his dentae and then poured the dissolving powder into the detective’s drink. Depending on how fast Streetwise drank, and his tolerance level, Jazz hoped it would have a quick effect.

“Good to see you again,” Streetwise greeted.

“But of course,” Jazz purred. “Here’s your drink.”

Streetwise set it down. “For the end, to celebrate.”

“Oh no.” Jazz refused to let it sit, instead pressing it into Streetwise’s hand. “I didn’t get you a drink so you could blow it off.”

Streetwise laughed. “So noted,” he said as he gulped it down.

It took long enough that Jazz was getting uncomfortable in their fooling around before Streetwise flopped back and started giggling like mad, his optics at half-power. The drugs, a truth serum with later memory loss, were working.

“Now,” Jazz whispered as he moved in close. “You and I are going to talk about the case against detective Prowl, and I want all the details.”

|Prowl's POV|

Prowl sat in his cell on the bottom bunk near the wall, as he assumed that was probably his bunk. He had a hunch he was right when his cellmate returned. It was the helicopter.

His cellmate looked at him like he was a turborat for the taking, his smile coy and not in a good way. “Name’s Vortex. What crime are you accused of?”

“Murder,” Prowl replied. He thought maybe murder might get him more fear and criminal respect than terrorism.

“Oh good, me too. A few murders, actually.”

He really hoped Vortex was lying like him. All he could think of replying to that was, “Ah.”

Vortex got closer, effectively blocking Prowl into a little box. It immediately put him further on edge. “What weapon did you use?”

“My fists. I pummeled him to death.”

Vortex whistled. “I crushed in one’s helm through his optics, but the other two I butchered with very sharp toys.” His grin managed to get worse. “Allegedly, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Was he big, the one you killed?”

“Big enough,” Prowl replied.

“Good, because I was just _hate_ to beat a poor excuse of a ‘high risk’ mech into a pulp. Get up.”

That was all the warning he got before Vortex struck with an open palm. Vortex had all the leverage, being taller, wider, and probably more of a brute than him. Then again, Prowl wasn’t without training how to take down a bigger opponent for arrests.

Prowl took the open palm hit but he twisted enough for it to land on his shoulder and not on his neck. He jumped up and untwisted by bringing himself around with a kick, but Vortex stepped back one step and blocked it. Immediately he retaliated by pressing forward with a face-high punch. Prowl blocked it with his forearms, and they sung from the pain. He knew this was going to be bad.

|Jazz's POV|

The terrorist ring looked right at home, Jazz observed from above them in the catacombs of Praxus. It wasn’t hard to find them once Jazz bounced Streetwise's information off of his informants. They were moving boxes of artillery, and supposedly they were going to attack the banks – not the garden that Prowl was accused of orchestrating.

_There_ , Jazz thought as he spotted the yellow and purple mech. His name was Swindle and there were multiple rumors going around regarding his true intentions. Jazz didn’t care about any of those; he only cared about getting Prowl out of jail as soon as possible. There was curiosity as to why Prowl was being set up, though.

Despite wanting to charge into the ring and nab Swindle right then and there, Jazz stayed calm long enough to wait until Swindle was alone getting some energon in a blind spot. He scurried down the wall and approached Swindle from behind. Normally he was not one to attack from behind, but special circumstances called for being realistic about his options. Jazz punched Swindle in the back of the helm, forcing his face into his drink so he couldn’t immediately cry out. Then he spun Swindle around, pushed him up against a wall with his arm, and covered Swindle’s mouth once he knocked the cube away.

“Scream or say anything louder than a whisper and you’ll learn why Meister is feared beyond hacking skills.” Jazz had gone back to looking like himself, so it shouldn’t be confusing who he meant.

Swindle nodded and Jazz pulled his hand away. “What do you want?”

“Why did you frame detective Prowl for what you’re doing, for who you are?”

Swindle nervously but silently chuckled. “I needed a fall guy and a fake plan to get the detectives off my trail. I knew who I wanted because if it weren’t for Prowl and him arresting me for a different crime this all would’ve been accomplished by now. Instead Prowl set me back nearly a vorn.”

“Well you picked the wrong cop to pick on. See, I owe that cop. So here’s what's going to happen: you are going to the lead detective on Prowl’s case and you are confessing all of this.”

This time Swindle’s snicker wasn’t completely silent. “And why would I do that?”

“You know I work for the biggest mob in Praxus, right? You know how I’m pretty well favored, too. Well, if you don’t do this right now, if you don’t go willingly with me to the detective, then I’ll call in a favor. I’ll have the mob put out a hit on you.”

Swindle’s optics widened. “You’ll have me killed?”

Jazz shrugged. “Maybe, but I prefer maimed beyond affordable repair. Make living a worse punishment than death. I’ll have them add extra payment for pain.”

“If I were to agree, then how are you getting me out of here without anyone catching us? I kind of love the idea of my ring taking out the great Meister.”

“That’s easy so long as you can climb. I hope you aren’t stupid enough to think that taking me out won’t come with dire repercussions, because if I don’t eliminate your team, my bosses will.”

|Prowl's POV|

The world was muffled to his audio receptors and the light was gone. Prowl realized that his optics weren’t powered on. He concentrated on his boot up cycle, trying to get online as fast as he could. Last he remembered he was in a fight with a particularly violent brawler.

When the sounds came through crisp enough that he could make them out he realized they were soft beeps of machines. There were tubes from machines going into his lines, too, he realized. Infirmary?

His optics onlined and he could see a large room, and when he looked around he saw other mechs lying in medical berths. First thing Prowl did was try to get up, only to find himself handcuffed on both hands to the berth’s handrails. They weren’t taking any chances with him.

“Hello, sleepy helm,” a nurse with a loud voice said after Prowl jostled his cuffs.

“What happened?” Prowl asked.

“With the marks you have, I’d wager a fight.” The nurse picked up his chart datapad at the end of the berth. “Yes, it says right here you were in a fight with one of our most prolific offenders.”

That sparked a memory in Prowl. Vortex had attacked him, but what he’d forgotten was that he managed to make the fight a tie against his difficult opponent. He had taken quite a bit of damage though, from a cracked lip to numerous dents. Looking his frame over, Prowl concluded some of his dents had actually cracked and caused leaks, if the patches were anything to go by.

“Will I be alright?”

“Certainly. You’ve been repaired well enough to be let go after a joor’s observation now that you woke up.”

Prowled laid his helm back down for a moment before snapping it right back up. “What happened to Vortex?”

“He was here, away from you, but we released him to be observed in solitary. He should be there for at least a few orns. Well, maybe two. Depends on how much they have to cycle high-risk inmates through there.”

Prowl said nothing, silently hoping that this affair would convince Vortex to behave better. He suspected it wouldn’t be the case.

His silence turned out to be a mistake. The nurse looked over his datapad again. “You seem well educated for an inmate. What are you in here for? Oh my, terrorism. And you’re a cop? Who would’ve thought?”

If he was free he would’ve jumped up and hushed the loud nurse. Unaware of what he had just done, the nurse kept talking. “ _Tsk tsk_ , I so rarely see cops in here. Well, rest up, Prowl.”

When the nurse left Prowl darted his optics around him. Based on the glances he received back it was clear others had heard the nurse call him a cop. That meant possibly as little as a joor from now his life would be in danger.

|Jazz's POV|

They walked together, Jazz’s arm casually wrapped around Swindle’s as if they were lovers. In reality he was making sure the other criminal didn’t dart off. Swindle was a flight risk, based on his muttering.

“Here it is, the precinct,” Jazz said after the long bus ride and walk, since he didn’t trust Swindle to transform into alt mode and stay either. “Let’s get going, sweetspark,” Jazz added with a hard tug when Swindle dug in his heels.

“Mmph!” Swindle grumbled. “Fine! Let’s just get this over with. That is, if you’re willing to risk being my next target after I get out, just like Prowl was.”

“I’m not worried about you, sweetspark.”

With some force Jazz walked them up to the receptionist’s desk. “Detective Streetwise, please. We have critical information about a terrorist plot he’s investigating.”

“Oh! I’ll have someone escort you into a room right now while I page him,” the receptionist said.

Just under five breems later they were joined by Streetwise at a table in a nice interview room. Jazz finally let Swindle go. “Hey, hope you’re doing well. If not, maybe Swindle can make your orn better with some key information.”

“Yeah…” Swindle started but drifted off as Streetwise leaned forward. When there was another beat of silence between all three, Jazz kicked Swindle under the table.

“Ow – I mean, ah!” Swindle responded. “I guess I’m here to confess to a crime. Or two. Or many more.”

“What crimes are those? I heard you had something to say about a terrorism plot I’m investigating, and right now I’m investigating two.”

Swindle took a deep vent. “The one with some detective you arrested. Prowl is his name. I guess… I suppose Prowl is innocent.”

“And why do you say that?”

“…” Once more Jazz kicked Swindle under the table, and the mech continued. “Because I set him up to take the fall for me.”

Streetwise leaned back. “Are you sure? Are you saying that freely? Who are you?” That last question was directed at Jazz.

“Just a shocked and concerned friend here for support during this confusing time for Swindle. We talked and he realized the errors of his ways.”

“Yeah, the errors of my ways,” Swindle sullenly echoed.

After that it was nearly a joor after confessing a lot of crimes and plotting when Swindle was led out by another cop. Streetwise turned to Jazz and thanked him for helping keep them on track.

“No prob,” Jazz answered. “Just curious, what happens to the fall guy? Roll was his name?”

“Prowl. I’ll get started on the documents to get him free as soon as I file these. Between that and the time it takes to process Prowl’s documents, it’ll be another orn.”

“What if he doesn’t have time for that?”

Streetwise dismissed Jazz’s concern. “He’ll be fine. I haven’t heard of any trouble.”

Jazz frowned. Good thing he was a hacker.

|Prowl's POV|

The moment he was released in his cell after two joors of observation, as he had managed to fake sickness during the first one, Prowl surveyed his surroundings. The looks on everyone’s faces could be described as wolfish, as if they saw him as prey. Prowl could only grimly conclude that word about him being a cop had gotten out. That or they knew Vortex would come back to finish the job, so either prospect was not good.

It was revealed to him which of the two possible situations was his reality when a purple Kaon mech approached him. “So, copper, liking your accommodations?”

Prowl was silent, which only served to earn him an angry expression from the Kaonite. “Because I think they’ve been too nice. What do you say, all?”

“Yeah!” was the chorus. Fists were punched into hands and snickering made its way through the crowd.

Between the size of the crowd and his injuries he wouldn’t win. He would die here, Prowl realized. He would die alone, and there wouldn’t even be anyone to really mourn him. That last thought cut him almost as bad as the realization his end would come in a jail. In all the times he brushed off offers to join other officers and detectives, in the times a mech flirted with him and he declined spending time with them, he never thought how it would turn out. His job position would be filled within a deca-orn of his death, and no one would think of him again.

“Prowl!”

He looked back behind him, where the stern voice called. It was a prison guard holding keys. “You’ve been released.”

He cycled his optics. “What?”

“Some documents were pushed through and they’ve declared your release top priority for this jail. Now hurry up so I can go to lunch.”

Prowl moved quick to the open door, relieved to leave behind the growls.

His actual release took him to the 54th precinct to sign some datapads rather than let him go free straight from jail. It was unusual, but then based on the documents he figured out it was to cover themselves from imprisoning the wrong mech. It was something he lacked personal experience.

Finally they escorted him out, and although he was curious at the double-take look from Streetwise as they passed, he didn’t stop. He stepped outside the door and took several paces to the street corner before venting in the fresh air.

“Looks like freedom is going to agree with you, Prowl.”

Startled at the voice behind him, Prowl fully turned around to see a white and black mech with a blue highlight and visor leaning against the precinct’s wall. There was something familiar about the stranger. By sight there wasn’t much, but that voice was definitely familiar. “Do I know you?”

The stranger pushed himself off the wall and walked close to Prowl. In a low voice he answered, “Maybe. I think a detective like yourself should be able to figure it out.”

“Wait – ” Prowl reached out to touch the stranger but he jumped away, transformed into his vehicle mode, and drove off while joyfully laughing. The moves he pulled off to get around traffic that law-abiding Prowl wouldn’t dare try allowed the stranger to get too far ahead.

The brief exchanged left him stunned. Someone he didn’t know knew him? And why were they at the precinct where he was being released? Did he have a friend he never knew about?

Prowl thought all of these questions until the stranger disappeared from his sight. Prowl smiled and thought, _game on_.

**Author's Note:**

> One of Vortex’s claimed kills comes from Games of Thrones.
> 
> “Gypsy Dancer” is inspired by “Gipsy Danger.” And by inspired I mean I incorrectly remembered the character name but for a while couldn’t remember the movie name “Pacific Rim” to check. I left it just because. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
